Bookish
by ange1christine
Summary: After funding is cut for the local library, Ivy and Jack are faced with a bleak choice. But when their boss, Mr. Astor, disappears, mistakenly dragging Ivy and Jack with him, they must embark on a seemingly never ending adventure to find him. They think they know the stories, but they couldn't be more wrong. (Idea very loosely based on Escape The Night with Joey Graceffa!)


**Long time no see!**  
**I just want to thank you all for your patience. I am still writing Wolfborn but...that GoT ending has me feeling very uninspired. I thought then that now would be the perfect time to take a swing at my first original piece. Let me know what you think!**

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"Ivy League!"

She looked up from her book, shielding her blue eyes from the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. She checked her watch; a little after 10 in the morning.  
"You're early today, Jack," she said, placing a post it note on her unfinished page and laying her weathered copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales on the desk before her. Ivy swiveled in her chair, turning toward him as he held out her morning coffee. Jack brought her coffee every morning, long after she'd told him he didn't have to. He'd just given her that lopsided smirk, smiling with a little too much teeth. It had been two years since that day.  
"The early bird catches the worm, Ivy League," Jack replied, giving her that same slick grin he did every day.  
"You're early, but you're still late. You know the library opens at 9," Ivy sipped her coffee, "and you know that Ivy League is not my name."  
Jack mimicked her, using his knuckle to push his round glasses further up his nose. Jack Allen was tall and lanky, with a shock of floppy blonde hair that always fell in his eyes. Ivy often thought that he reminded her of an adolescent Golden Retriever, with less fur and more annoying habits.  
"Whatever you say, Ivy Jane," Jack said in a sing-song voice, collapsing into his chair at the other end of the long, curved wooden desk.  
"If you must know, I had a job interview this morning," Jack stated, shrugging the brown tweed jacket from his shoulders and slinging it across the back of his chair, "at the coffee shop." He raised his paper cup in a toast.  
"How'd it go?"  
Jack shrugged. "I think I nailed it, but I also think that it would be impossible to tank an interview for a job where the hardest thing I'd have to do all day is not spill coffee on myself."

Ivy raised a brow, tossing her long, dark red hair over her shoulder. She thought Jack was capable of anything; even giving himself third degree burns thanks to a pot of watered down decaf.  
She motioned with her head to the back of her chair, where her black blazer hung,"I have one after work today," she said, "the bank on Main is looking for a receptionist."  
Jack sighed, running his hand through his hair. He leaned back, mimicking her pose, propping his feet up on the desk.  
"You shouldn't be working behind a desk, Ivy," he said, and his voice took on that melancholy, far-away tone, "you should be writing the next great classic of our time. The next _Hobbit_, or _Wuthering Heights_."  
It was all Ivy could do not to roll her eyes. In the two years they'd known each other, Jack had made it a point to tell her that at least once a week. Part of her agreed with him; every day she woke up and felt like a part of her was missing, like she was a background character in a slow-burn movie.

"In a perfect world," she replied, sighing like she always did. She wanted to point out that, in their small town in Massachusetts, they were lucky that there were even two jobs that needed filling at the same time. She wondered that (if Jack did, in fact, tank his interview at the coffee shop), perhaps they would be competing against each other for the receptionist's position at the bank. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth. Despite his minor annoyances, Jack was her closest and only friend.

"In a perfect world, the library wouldn't be closing, and we would be happy to spend the rest of our working days shushing teenagers and smelling book bindings."  
Ivy could hear the malcontent in Jack's voice. Last month they'd gotten only seven patrons total, and the mayor had finally cut their funding. Ivy was a firm believer that a town without access to books was the first step into world-wide anarchy, but the mayor had turned a deaf ear to their plea. She was sure that the meager funding the library required would be put to use on that new and improved football field for the high school team. Ivy bit her cheek, willing herself to have lighter thoughts.

The bell on the door of the library rang, and Ivy quickly tucked her black boots under the desk. Jack wasn't as fast, however, and he was met with the shrewd eyes of the head librarian.

Maximilian Astor was a man that looked like he had strode right out of the Victorian 1800's. Even in the dead of summer, he still wore his dark gray waistcoat, complete with top hat and decorative cane he swung in a circle as he walked. He'd hired them just over two years ago, after he'd lost his wife. It made Ivy's heart ache to see him now; the wrinkles in his forehead, the pinched, angry look in his eyes.  
"Morning, Mr. Astor," she said cheerfully, folding her hands in front of her. Mr. Astor nodded in her general direction, before gesturing to Jack with his sleek, wooden cane.  
"No feet on the mahogany, Mr. Allen," he quipped, his lip curled beneath his thick gray mustache. Mr. Astor strode right past them, closing the door to his office with a sharp _click_.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "He seems in a worse mood today than yesterday."  
Ivy agreed. "The closer we get to the official shut down, the worse he gets."  
She couldn't help but feel for the old man. After his wife had died, the library was all he had to occupy his time. He'd hand picked Ivy and Jack himself, and they'd loved him for his kind eyes and jovial, Santa Claus-like demeanor. Since the mayor had announced their cut in funding, however, his attitude had quickly turned sour.

They settled into their shifts; Ivy reading her book, Jack tinkering around the library. He stopped often to annoy her, and then eventually settled to read over her shoulder, draped over the desk like a bear skin rug. He smelled like fresh laundry and old books.

The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky by the time Ivy shut her book, although she was unwilling to abandon the tale of Rapunzel and her Prince Charming. Jack rolled over onto his back, his long legs dangling over the side of the desk.  
"Already quittin' time?" he mused, stretching languorously like a cat. Ivy watched him, throwing her blazer over her arm. It was too hot to wear on her walk to the bank, and she shouldered her bag as Jack pulled his jacket on.

"We should get a drink after your interview," Jack said suddenly, busying his hands with the straps of his backpack.  
"A drink?" Ivy sputtered, caught off guard. It was the first time in the two years they'd known each other that Jack had ever asked to see her outside of work.  
"Yeah, a drink," he replied, going red around the ears. He used his knuckle to push his glasses up again, his fingers finding his hair again. Ivy raised her eyebrow. He was nervous.  
"To celebrate not having to see each other every day?" she asked, snorting, attempting to diffuse the tension of the moment. Her hands shook, and she quickly hid them behind her back.  
Jack looked up then, and she thought she saw hurt flashing behind his eyes. Ivy opened her mouth to speak, before a loud crash interrupted her.  
"What was that?"

Jack stood, turning toward Mr. Astor's office. He'd been silent for hours, cooped up in the tiny office at the back of the library. He put out his arm as Ivy moved to march past him.  
"Stay here," he said sternly, to which Ivy raised a brow. She pushed his arm away, forcing him to follow behind her, muttering in exasperation.

The door was ajar, evening light spilling into the corridor.  
"Mr. Astor?" Ivy called, pulling the door open. As her fingers touched the knob, she felt a jolt of electricity travel up her arm. Jack snuck in behind her, crouching low.  
Mr. Astor was nowhere to be seen in the tiny office. Ivy's nose wrinkled. It looked like it had not had a good cleaning in months. Books and papers littered the desk, spilling onto the floor. Ivy nudged aside an overturned umbrella stand.  
"Max?" she called for him again, even though she could see the entirety of the room without even turning around. She felt Jack's breath on the back of her neck, warm and welcoming.

Something on the desk caught her eye, and she moved toward it, as if pulled by an invisible fishing line. Ivy heard Jack shift uncomfortably from the doorway.  
"Maybe he went home early," Jack said, his tone hopeful. Ivy scoffed.  
"And what? Managed to get past us unnoticed? We didn't leave the front desk all day, Jack."  
Even as she spoke, her eyes were locked on an ornate black box, resting on a stack of books on the desk. The lid was closed, but the latch was left up, leaving it unlocked. Ivy ran her fingertips over the lid, the strange symbols rough under her fingers.

"Max will be angry if he finds out we went through his things," Jack said, moving slowly toward her. Ivy did not reply. There was a soft, green light emanating from beneath the lid of the box. She cocked her head to the side, running her finger over the lid again.  
"Ivy," Jack pleaded, uneasy this time. Ivy did not look at him.  
"This box..." she trailed off, and Jack took her elbow in his hand gently.  
"It's just a box," he said, and he flipped the lid open before Ivy could stop him.

Ivy had the sudden feeling that the floor had fallen away from under her. Instinctively she clutched Jack around the neck, crying out as they both plummeted to...where? The ground? A black hole? When she looked down, she saw nothing but an inky blackness, threatening to swallow them whole.  
Jack threw his arms around Ivy's waist, pulling her close as they fell. Part of him wanted to laugh; how long had he wanted to hold her like this? Now he finally got to; moments before their almost certain death.

Suddenly they stopped, still surrounded by the darkness. It felt like they had hit a vat of tar, and they sank through it slowly. It felt like the air had been sucked from their lungs, and Ivy pressed her face into Jack's neck, silently praying for it to end.

The two hit the ground with a resounding thud, Ivy's screech dying on her lips. Jack was beneath her, fighting for air. Ivy rolled away from him as he sucked in a gasping breath, leaning back in a patch of grass.  
"Shit! Sorry, sorry. Are you okay?"  
She leaned over him, her hand resting on his chest. The moonlight shone behind her head, and without thinking, Jack reached up to brush a lock of hair out of her eyes.  
"I'm okay," he said, sitting up. He was still wearing his tweed jacket, but he'd left his backpack on the desk in the library. Ivy tucked her hair behind her ears, rising to her feet, if only to hide the redness forming on her cheeks.  
"So, where are we?" She wondered, taking in the view around them.  
They were in a forest, surrounded by dark trees. In the distance, between the branches, she could see lights flickering.  
"I don't know," Jack said, "but why do I feel like everything is in black and white?" Had the fall made him colorblind? Did he have brain damage?

Ivy heard shouting in the distance, twigs cracking in the night. She turned to Jack, gripping his shirt as she hauled him behind the first thing she saw; a dead, rotting log.  
A host of people shot past them, torches raised high in the air, giving the forest an even eerier glow. Ivy couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a pitchfork.

"Is that...an angry mob?" Ivy could hardly believe her eyes as the shouting faded again into the distance.  
"Well jeez, Toto," Jack said, mimicking a bad southern accent, "Looks like we're not in Kansas anymore." Ivy crossed her arms as an icy breeze chilled her to the bone.  
"I am _so _going to miss my job interview."


End file.
